


will our voices be erased? (you became my everything)

by iuwui



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Crack Poorly Disgusied as Actual Writing, Cult Support Group, Flowery Poetic Metaphors, Happy Biiiirthday To You, I Misspelled Disguised, I need sleep, Jaemin Is Also Immortal Or Some Shit, Jaemin Is An Angel Or Some Shit, Koh Samed, Lost and Found, M/M, No Plot, Okay That Is Enough Tags Even Though I Can't Tag, Repetition, Sort of Deep, There Is Also No Explanation, Too Philosophical, apologies in advance, happy birthday to you, there is no timeline, universe - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:49:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28602477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iuwui/pseuds/iuwui
Summary: boy existed before time. boy is not boy. not-boy meets other boy. not-boy and boy fall in love. not-boy discovers the meaning of life.ORjaemin is immortal and sort of cynical. jeno is cute and has cats.- - -Once, he had a purpose.Once, he was adored.Now he is adrift and wandering, trying to recall the important thing he was created for.
Relationships: Lee Jeno/Na Jaemin
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	will our voices be erased? (you became my everything)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [im_soft_ok](https://archiveofourown.org/users/im_soft_ok/gifts).



> hi! hi. this is for the aforementioned dedicated person because i love them and happy birthday.  
> i had another nomin planned but then realized that pulling a romeo and juliet wouldn’t be a great birthday present, so here is this instead.  
> i don’t know what the hell it is please don’t hate me.  
> i listened to koh samed and puzzle piece while writing this and the title is taken from google translated lyrics of koh samed, which means you should entirely take it with a grain of salt ahaha *jumps off of bridge cutely*

_ Red.  _

_ Smoke.  _

_ Coughing.  _

_ Tangled.  _

_ Tripping. _

_ Ashes. _

_ Lost.  _

_ Missing. _

_ Found. _

_ Dead. _

The voices in Jaemin’s head overlap, crashing like ocean waves against the rocks, harsh and screeching like nails against a chalkboard, a symphony of agony that refuses to end. His own melody, formerly distinct, is lost in the whirlwind- perhaps lost within the hatred, or confused with the anxiety. 

He feels himself dissolving around the edges. 

A string in a jumper in grade school. Maybe after class, or on the playground during recess- this thread loosens and hangs, waiting to be discovered. A thread that one kept pulling on, until it loosened, and then kept tugging, fascinated by the seemingly endless supply. They’d go home with a hole in their sweater and a limp pile of unraveled fabric, thin and frayed and sticky where grubby hands had touched. The world is the curious child, tugging away at Jaemin, and he’s given so much to the humans he can’t remember what he was placed on earth to do.

Once, he had a purpose.

Once, he was adored.

Now he is adrift and wandering, trying to recall the important thing he was created for.

\- ★ - ★ -

When Jaemin calms down and sits quietly with no distractions, he thinks to the beginning. He remembers a light. A soothing song, though not his mother’s- he cannot remember if he had a mother. He was nurtured, yes, but not cared for. Why would he be? He was meant to serve.

And then he was summoned, and he peered upon the face of the universe, which was beautiful- too beautiful to speak of. There is no way to describe the past and present and future and everything in between, seventh dimensions and wonders he cannot dwell too hard on, or else the world goes fuzzy around the edges.

He remembers being light.

A reflection of the universe, with a task to complete.

Doomed to roam the earth until he finished.

But what was the task?

Jaemin closes his eyes and tries to reach for it, stretching for the memory he knows is there but cannot recall, as if it has been hidden purposefully.

He resents them, sometimes.

Why give him a task and make it impossible to complete?

Is he meant to follow humanity for forever?

Watching them make the same mistakes over and over again?

To give them everything they desired, in hopes that one of them would be different.

But they fell, one after another, doomed to greed or wrath or gluttony or lust or any of the other sins they had given name to. 

Jaemin doesn’t understand the categories.

At the end of the day, it is still an evil that corrupts.

It doesn’t matter how they sort it.

They fall anyways.

They fall, and fall, and fall, spiraling into the unknown.

\- ★ - ★ -

He is so bitter sometimes. It leeches out of him, poison coursing throughout his body, words on the tip of his tongue.

All this knowledge he has stored.

He could give the worst away.

Force others to carry secrets that could destroy them.

He ignores it.

Perhaps he was meant to be the strong one.

But Na Jaemin is not strong.

He is as weak as any other human, perhaps weaker.

For the elements do not change his being, nor can his body betray him, but emotions are faded.

He wishes to feel again.

He wishes-

He doesn’t know.

Wishing is futile.

\- ★ - ★ -

And so he lives like this:

Every morning at six am, Jaemin wakes up in his apartment. He shuts his alarm off and goes back to sleep. At six thirty, he drags himself out of bed and dresses, and then goes to the corner bakery down the street with his laptop and buys a cup of coffee and a bagel.

He sits down, types away at his self-help book, and leaves at eleven.

At twelve, he sits down at his desk and eats whatever he can be bothered to find. Sometimes white rice, sometimes ramen. Leftovers are often on the menu.

He sits and listens to music. There’s a new phenomenon called  _ Celtic Punk Rock Christmas Music, _ and it is everything he has imagined and more.

He works at the 24-hour convenience store from four to twelve, and helps people as much as he can. On Saturdays, he goes to museums or shows. On Sundays, he sleeps in. 

Rainy days are his favorite, because they are his cheat days.

Rainy days are when he met  _ him. _

\- ★ - ★ -

As a fallen creature- ugh, Jaemin hates the word, it makes him sound like a freak -he finds meaning in life in whatever. Revelry. Piety. Religion. And his newest expedition, support group for people formerly inducted into cults.

The day is cold, with wind chill making it feel much colder, while freezing rains pours down. Jaemin was stupid- well, more stupid than usual. He forgets his umbrella somewhere and he sprints to the building, where a sign in the front directs him to the basement, causing him to be even more soaked.

Curse his vanity and his long wool coat.

He is hit with a blast of hot air as he enters.

The chairs are set up in a circle. Jaemin respects that.

He takes his coat off and drapes it around the back of a chair, and sits down.

He is the third to arrive.

The others sit, quietly. One is on their phone. The other one finds the ceiling very interesting.

More people come in.

Ten, eleven.

A final boy walks in, closing his umbrella and stamping his feet, and then he smiles, and Jaemin melts into a puddle in his seat.

The leader comes out from a back room and gives everyone a smile.

Introductions.

Jaemin cannot remember the other people, but-

His name is Lee Jeno. He is strong and quiet. Fragile inside, because- well, he’s human. 

Jaemin cannot look away.

\- ★ - ★ -

Cult group continues for the next twelve weeks.

Nothing really happens.

A few horror stories are told.

One girl cries.

Jaemin half pays attention, but mostly tries to memorize the freckle beneath Jeno’s right eye.

\- ★ - ★ -

The last day of support group comes too soon.

Jaemin is sad.

Their company is much better than the people who frequent the convenience store.

He also thinks that he could’ve told much better stories.

People have formed friendships over these months.

Jaemin has not talked to Jeno really closely, but it is a work in progress.

They exchange numbers.

His job there is done.

\- ★ - ★ -

Today, Jeno gets off work early.

He wants to celebrate his birthday, and who is Jaemin to deny a pretty boy?

They go out, just the two of them.

There is a movie.

Then dinner.

Then, what the heck, clubbing.

The subway is too bright, but Jeno falls asleep on Jaemin’s shoulder anyways.

His heart skips a beat and flies away.

His sanity disappears with that, too.

\- ★ - ★ -

The club is loud.

Of course it is.

People are nothing but obnoxious.

He quite likes people sometimes.

Jeno is drunk and pulling him closer.

Jaemin is high off of something.

Alcohol held no influence on him, but simply being around Jeno makes the world feel right.

The night is not young, but there are clouds, and a moon.

There has always been a moon.

Lee Jeno shines bright like the moon.

(Jaemin is poetic and shit like that.)

They are laughing as they wave down a taxi, foolish as they kiss in the backseat, while the driver ignores them and continues to go.

Maybe he is racking up the bill by taking the long route, but Jaemin does not want the night to end.

He doubts himself for just a second.

The pause is brief, but Jaemin catches on, and the exchange they have is something along the lines of  _ Are you sure?  _ and  _ Kiss me, you fool. _

Jaemin has never felt more alive.

\- ★ - ★ -

There is a moment when he wakes up when he cannot remember.

And he panics.

But Jeno is there, and Jaemin is comforted.

But Jeno is now his new excuse for everything.

\- ★ - ★ -

Now, there is a place for him at Jeno’s, where pictures line the hallway and the cat purrs affectionately for him.

It is not what he was put on earth to do, of course, but it is a kind escape. 

He feels as though he does not deserve it.

But in the early morning, as dew kisses the grass and the sun smiles softly through the windows, where Jeno flips pancakes at the old stove and the robin’s egg blue refrigerator hums, Jaemin tiptoes up behind him and hugs him tight.

“Good morning,” he says, smiling wide.

And Jeno’s eyes crinkle at the corners as they always do, and Jaemin thinks it’s quite alright if he never remembers his purpose.

After all, the funny thing with humans is that they create their meaning.

**Author's Note:**

> wacko: for the love of god, stop the damn flowery metaphors. they’re annoying and make no sense and take away from the main point of the plot.  
> me, grinning manically, preparing an entire work made of stupid flowery metaphors and no plot: i see no god up here. except ME.  
> again happy birthday <33333 and thanks for being my friend.


End file.
